


Kiss Your Knuckles

by jack-of-alltrades (bumblebeeJacky)



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Barely any dialogue, First Love, M/M, References to Depression, poetic???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeeJacky/pseuds/jack-of-alltrades
Summary: He felt unworthy because he was the loneliness in the darkness, knuckles bruised and bloody, words sharpened like a blade to voice darker thoughts, petty actions meant to enrage. And here he was with the personification of sunshine in his arms, a man more pure and good than he had words for.He would get better.





	Kiss Your Knuckles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Books_Bring_You_To_Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Books_Bring_You_To_Wonderland/gifts), [EchoingHowls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoingHowls/gifts), [fluffy_papaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffy_papaya/gifts).



Brock was all soft flowers and fluffy clouds. Pastel colors, soft smiles, sunshine lighting up bright gleaming eyes, soft hands made to heal and help, never to hurt. Hair that would be less messy in the mornings from peaceful nights curled up warm and happy in bed, brightly colored soft clothing to reflect a brightly colored soft soul.

Brock was soft tones, light colors; bright smiles reflecting bright eyes, a big heart that loved everyone he knew and never hated; nothing could taint a soul pure as his. The first to cheer in absolute delight as Evan played his songs, the last to say goodnight, staying up late, late, late into the dark night simply to ensure each and every one of his dear friends got home to bed safely. He wasn’t bad, not in the slightest, not a speck of black in him. He loved, and that’s all he knew to do, that’s all he allowed himself to learn as he grew up. He was exposed to such dark, terrifying and violent things throughout his years, be it a first hand experience or a glance at such a situation. And he always solved his problems with peace and smiles and assurances that everything would be okay.

Brian wasn’t that. Brian wasn’t any of that. He knew black souls, dark colors and horrific humor from the start. He teased, patronized, angered people he loved, he ignored people he hated. It was kind of scary to see Brian at his limits. He was all dirt and bones, neon lights on a pitch black night, fog covering the surrounding areas as the moon glowed bright above them. He was dark thoughts, petty actions, feathers off raven wings and words sharpened to cut like a knife.

Brian knew just what to say to tear someone down; he knew just the actions to use to break someone apart mercilessly. His soul was dark like everyone around him – blackened from ruthless thoughts and selfish actions. He had a temper, which was no secret. Anyone who knew him knew how easy it was to make him snap, just the words and actions to see a fire start in bright blue eyes always so full of life, so full of anger at the world around him – at the people around him. It must have been such a relief when he moved to live on his own, to not be surrounded by people who knew just what to say, just what to do, did so _just because_ and left him to it. He was the first to shut down, to go to bed without so much as a goodnight sometimes, he solved his problems with fists, blood and loud words.

Brock was a soft white heart without a speck of darkness in it, and Brian was a blackened heart desperate for a change to the darkness he surrounded himself in.

And when they met, they contrasted immediately and everyone could see it. How pure, pastel and soft Brock was, a direct contrast to how abnormal, dark and rough Brian was. But god, they got on so well. They got on incredibly, blending well together, that gray area between black and white that people could sometimes forget about – they smiled, joked, raged at each other, and it was all fine. It was more than fine, Brian would think as he stared in silence at their discord with himself muted as Brock chatted away with everyone else, no one too terribly concerned about his silence – it wasn’t the first time. But it was more than fine. Brock was more than that – he was perfect. He was wonderful.

When they first met, Brian was nervous. He was sharp edges, a dark heart and a soul that probably couldn’t be saved when it was his time to go, but he appreciated the tight hug from Daithi when he arrived before Brock, appreciated the assurances that it’s going to be fun; they’ll have fun at the convention together.

He felt his head spinning when Brock showed up at long last. He was sat in the hall right beside his door in the hotel, waiting for his roommate before he went in, and when he looked up and saw a handsome face, light hair, pretty hazel eyes and a beautiful smile, he thought that there was no way. Figured he’d step over his legs and move on to his own room in the hotel before the man greeted him with, “Hello, Brian,” in a voice he knew so well and god, the effort it took to not let his pounding heart bring tears to his eyes like it wanted to. He was scrambling to his feet, a black hearted man dressed in clothes to reflect as such, a white hearted man dressed in light, comfortable clothes. He didn’t know what to do, and his cheeks went red as Brock teased him for his silence and staring before pulling the taller man into a tight hug.

And Brian felt unworthy. He felt unworthy because he was the loneliness in the darkness, knuckles bruised and bloody, words sharpened like a blade to voice darker thoughts, petty actions meant to enrage. And here he was with the personification of sunshine in his arms, a man more pure and good than he had words for.

He didn’t realize the tears were falling until Brock’s delighted smile was replaced with such a worried look and he hurried them into their room. Brian sat down on the edge of one of the two beds, swallowing thickly to hold back sobs that wanted to escape, to voice his confusion as to why he reacted like this, they were supposed to be happy, they were supposed to get everyone else and laugh and greet Brock with the smiles and sunshine and flowers he deserved. And here he was with Brock knelt in front of him, a worried look as soft, soft hands wiped away stray tears and questioned what happened, why he was crying.

Seemed taken aback as Brian whispered in a shaking tone with a weak smile, “be sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face.”

This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to change, to be better, to be g o o d. But here he was trapped under all that darkness that surrounded him for years, stifling and suffocating until it became the most prevalent part of him. And he was being shown true bright light, something pure and untainted for the first time, something he could save or destroy like everything else. And gods help him, he had to save that light, he had to let him grow and live and smile like he was always meant to.

So those words spilled from his mouth, a plea for some show of true love before he was treated with the same thing he gave everyone else. Blood, bruised knuckles, sharp words meant to hurt, meant to _**k i l l**_.

He shouldn’t have asked such a thing of Brock. He was pure, he was good, and he shouldn’t have to put up with such darkness.

He put it on display. All of it; dark, tired eyes with bags to show an exhaustion he powered through so well, those bruised knuckles from years of fighting, the dark heart from violent words and selfish, petty actions. And Brock laid his hands on that dark heart meant to be destroyed, smiled so sweetly at him and told him he could be saved too. He could change, he could let himself be light once more, he could accept the light he used to have to reflect bright blue eyes that looked to the world full of curiosity and wonder as a little kid before the light was taken away from him, replaced with something rough, hard and heavy. Bones and feathers off a raven.

Arms wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him into a firm body as one of those soft hands ran along his back meant to soothe and comfort, soft words meant to encourage and reassure, affection meant to lift away the darkness. So he melted into it, cried his pleas into the shoulder of the purest person he’d ever met, letting it fade away like dust in the wind until it was just the two of them existing together, hanging tight to each other as Brock promised he wasn’t alone, he wouldn’t be alone, and words that floated around in his head every day, words that came up when he was alone, when he was angry, when he was so ready to snap.

When he was about to lose it, he came back to the front of his mind. Pretty eyes full of real love that always looked at him, lips of soft, sweet smiles meant just for him, soft hands to entwine rough fingers with, and words that made the fury just drain from him until that darkness was gone. In place of dirt and bones, blood, bruises and sharp words, winds rustling trees in the fall, the pitter patter of rain on the roof, scornful words forgotten in place of soft apologies for his actions. A light heart with only a speck of darkness left over to remind him what he came back from, what he would never turn back to.

_You don’t have to fight anymore._


End file.
